When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 148

Li Jianming had imagined countless times what it would be like to meet Xu Zhichun again, but he hadn’t expected it to happen like this—so sudden that all the words he had rehearsed scattered from his mind.

He stood frozen, throat dry, unable to speak. When he finally found his voice, it came out hoarse.

“Foster father.”

The moment Yun Zhuoran saw Xu Zhichun appear outside the temple door, he instinctively restrained his heart demon. 

Their eyes met briefly before they silently took their places behind Li Jianming, standing watch. 

Yun Zhuoran had indeed advised Li Jianming to face Xu Zhichun as soon as possible—but he had not imagined it would happen in the midst of the Fengtian Temple, surrounded by fire.

Xu Zhichun’s appearance here left no room for doubt. His identity as Great Wuzhu of the Wu Clan was now clear before all.

Beside him stood Meng Ye, his expression twisted with fury, the remnants of Taiyin True Fire still flickering faintly within him. 

Xu Zhichun’s demeanor, however, was wrong. Gone was the composed authority he once carried when confronting Yun Zhuoran. In its place was something closer to panic—guilt, even. 

Meng Ye noticed immediately and eyed him sharply.

“Great Wuzhu,” he said coldly. “Do you… recognize them?”

The words hit like a blade. Xu Zhichun’s face drained of color. His lips moved, but no sound came. He glanced helplessly at Li Jianming, as though searching for words to explain—but before he could, shouts rose outside the temple.

The alarm Meng Ye had triggered had already drawn the temple guards. The formation’s activation had exposed everything.

Xu Zhichun frowned deeply, then shouted toward Li Jianming, “Go!”

Footsteps thundered closer. Still, Li Jianming did not move. He only stood there, unmoving, watching Xu Zhichun.

The cultivators of Fengtian Temple were gathering fast. Xu Zhichun grew desperate, casting aside all pretense of authority. “Young Island Master, take Ming’er away—now!”

Yun Zhuoran hesitated for only a moment before giving Weiran a look. The heart demon understood instantly.

Between them, they each took one of Li Jianming’s arms and lifted him out. 

Li Jianming didn’t resist. He simply looked back, watching as Xu Zhichun’s figure grew smaller and smaller behind them.

When they finally escaped the temple grounds and looked back, Fengtian Temple was already ablaze.

“So they’re alerted after all,” Yun Zhuoran murmured. His eyes lingered on the enormous statue half-shrouded in smoke. Even so close, the so-called deity remained silent. Something about that silence was ominous. “Let’s return first.”

Li Jianming turned to glance back one last time before nodding mutely.

The three walked in silence. Even Weiran—normally unconcerned with anyone else’s mood—kept glancing at Li Jianming now and then, finally relaxing only after confirming he hadn’t fallen behind.

They didn’t speak again until they reached Meng Zhou’s courtyard. 

Yun Zhuoran stopped suddenly, pulling Weiran aside.

Weiran looked at him in confusion. “Brother, what’s wrong?”

Li Jianming also stopped. Yun Zhuoran’s expression remained calm, but a faint chill emanated from him as his gaze fixed on the gate ahead.

“He left me one last gift,” Yun Zhuoran said evenly.

Weiran blinked. “Who?”

Before either he or Li Jianming could react, the sound of footsteps rose around them—closing in from every direction.

Torches flared to life, casting long shadows against the walls. Faces emerged one by one from the darkness, circling them tightly. Yun Zhuoran’s barrier had been broken.

Meng Zhou, who should still have been bound inside, appeared behind a tall Wu clansman and pointed at them, shouting excitedly, “Clan Leader! That’s them!”

Weiran sneered. “That damned Shen.”

It wasn’t hard to guess who had done it. Shen Lingshu must have broken Yun Zhuoran’s barrier before leaving. With his cultivation and the immortal bone protecting him, releasing Meng Zhou would’ve been trivial—and that single act had brought the Wu Clan down upon them.

Yun Zhuoran said nothing. His eyes swept the crowd until they found the tall, imposing figure at the front.

That must be Yan Changtian—the current Chief of the Wu Clan.

Yan Changtian, unfamiliar with Yun Zhuoran, turned instead to Li Jianming and spoke in heavily accented speech, “You must be Master Wen’s disciple—Li Jianming?”

So they were here for him. Li Jianming hadn’t expected that he, of all people, would draw more attention than the two Penglai Island masters beside him. 

He didn’t bother replying. His gaze flicked toward Yun Zhuoran, who stood composed as ever, as if he had foreseen all this.

“I didn’t think you’d sneak into Wu City. I underestimated you.” Yan Changtian’s tone was smooth, almost amused. He gestured casually, and his men stepped forward. “Still, you’ve come from afar. Why not stay awhile as our guests?”

His words were polite; his people’s eyes were not.

Li Jianming gritted his teeth, drawing his sword. 

Weiran immediately shifted, placing himself in front of Yun Zhuoran, his aura flaring faintly.

Before anyone could move, two figures descended from the air.

Xu Zhichun had caught up at last. Seeing the standoff, his expression darkened.

“Stop!” His voice carried authority. 

The crowd faltered, unsure. Even Yan Changtian’s face stiffened. Few dared defy the Great Wuzhu’s command.

Yan Changtian turned, forcing a smile. “Great Wuzhu, what brings you here? Wait—Meng Ye, are you hurt?”

Meng Ye’s face was bloodless. The damage Yun Zhuoran had dealt was not fatal, but the remnants of Taiyin True Fire still burned faintly in his soul.

Xu Zhichun caught his wrist, channeled spiritual energy to suppress the pain, then stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over Yun Zhuoran and the others. When he saw that they were unharmed, he quietly exhaled.

Then his tone turned sharp. “Chief, what is the meaning of this?”

Yan Changtian hesitated. He hadn’t yet told Xu Zhichun about his earlier plan—to use Li Jianming as leverage against the Kunwu Sword Sect. He dared not now. “Meng Zhou said outsiders broke into Wu City and kidnapped him,” he said quickly. “These are the ones.”

Xu Zhichun’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

Yan Changtian pointed at Meng Zhou. “You can ask him yourself.”

Meng Zhou, standing stiffly under so many eyes, trembled but managed to stammer, “Yes… they kidnapped me…”

Yan Changtian spread his hands. “You see? Such insolence. Surely we can’t let this go unpunished.”

Xu Zhichun wanted to retort, but stopped. 

The two Penglai masters were standing utterly calm amid the encirclement, their expressions unreadable. If he revealed who they truly were, the situation might spiral beyond control.

“Enough,” Xu Zhichun said coldly. “It’s a misunderstanding. They came to see me. They are my guests. Their method of entry was… unfortunate, but there was no harm done.”

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes flicked toward him in faint surprise. Xu Zhichun was defending them openly.

Yan Changtian’s gaze darkened. His real target was Li Jianming, yet with Xu Zhichun claiming them as guests, he couldn’t act without cause.

Meng Zhou, realizing he had misspoken, hurried to save himself. “Ah, so they’re the Great Wuzhu’s guests! I—I must have misunderstood!”

Xu Zhichun softened his tone. “You’re unharmed, I hope?”

Meng Zhou blushed under the attention, shaking his head rapidly. “No, not at all! They just stayed at my place for a bit. They didn’t hurt me!”

“That’s good,” Xu Zhichun said absently.

Yan Changtian’s expression soured. He glared at Meng Zhou but said nothing. 

The crowd murmured uncertainly.

“Everyone, disperse,” Xu Zhichun ordered.

No one moved.

Yan Changtian’s voice was stiff. “Great Wuzhu, surely you don’t intend to release them so easily?”

Xu Zhichun’s tone cooled. “Chief, is there something you wish to say?”

Yan Changtian hesitated. He had already quarreled with Xu Zhichun earlier over the blood ritual. Though he resented him, he dared not provoke him outright. 

After a long silence, he forced a smile. “Since they are the Great Wuzhu’s guests, I have no objection. But Meng Zhou’s home is too small. Why not have them stay at my residence tonight?”

Weiran chuckled, leaning close to Yun Zhuoran. “If we go with him, we might as well walk into a cage.”

Yun Zhuoran’s lips curved faintly. “I agree.”

The heart demon hadn’t lowered his voice. Xu Zhichun heard him clearly and interjected, “That won’t be necessary. It’s not appropriate for them to stay at the Chief’s estate. I’ll take them to my residence.”

Yan Changtian forced another smile. “Does the Great Wuzhu distrust me? Since they are your guests, we’ll treat them well. But it’s inconvenient for outsiders to stay in the Fengtian Temple.”

Xu Zhichun looked back at Yun Zhuoran and the others. They said nothing, only watching quietly. 

Finally, he nodded. “Very well. They’ll stay with me.”

Yan Changtian’s smile stiffened, but he could not press further. “As you wish.”

He dismissed his men and gestured for them to follow. “Please, honored guests.”

As the Wu tribesmen dispersed, Yun Zhuoran stepped forward, still holding Weiran’s hand. 

Passing by Li Jianming, who lingered in silence, he said quietly, “Don’t act rashly.”

Li Jianming’s brows furrowed, his eyes full of turmoil. 

Did Xu Zhichun truly not understand that the Chief’s target was him?

In the end, he bit back his words and followed. 

Xu Zhichun glanced back, worry flickering across his pale face, then turned away.

Yan Changtian led them through the dim streets toward his residence. Though Wu City forbade movement after dark, the earlier disturbance had roused many; doors and shutters creaked open, curious faces peering out as the group passed.

The Chief’s compound was far grander than Meng Zhou’s humble stone hut—multiple courtyards, stone towers, and a brightly lit main hall.

As they entered, Li Jianming suddenly halted. His gaze fixed on the hall ahead.

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran followed his line of sight—and froze as well.

Inside the light-filled hall stood two figures they knew all too well.

Su Pengpeng stood under the eaves, dressed in the Wu Clan’s violet garments, holding the young Wu child that Wen Jianxian had once brought back. Seeing Yun Zhuoran and the others, she froze in disbelief.

But Yun Zhuoran merely glanced her way before following Yan Changtian deeper into the courtyard. 

Knowing when to withdraw, Yan Changtian stopped at the gate and exchanged a few quiet words with Xu Zhichun before leaving. 

Xu Zhichun lingered, then led Yun Zhuoran and the others to the guest quarters to rest.

Meng Ye entered soon after, still pale, supported by Meng Zhou, who kept darting cautious glances toward Xu Zhichun.

The residence’s layout was simple—two side rooms flanking a brightly lit main hall that faced the courtyard. 

Li Jianming entered the hall first, sword in hand, and sat down with uncharacteristic composure. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran exchanged a glance. Something in his behavior was off.

Meng Ye, leaning on Meng Zhou, crossed the hall and stopped before Li Jianming. Yun Zhuoran and Weiran followed when they saw this.

Meng Ye kicked the leg of Li Jianming’s stool lightly. “Hey, are you really the Great Wuzhu’s adopted son?”

Li Jianming shot him a cold look, then turned his gaze toward the doorway where Xu Zhichun stood.

“Adopted son?” Meng Zhou blurted, startled.

Meng Ye ignored him. Though still resting on Meng Zhou’s arm, he pushed forward and sat beside Li Jianming. “That strange flame earlier—was it yours? You broke my formation, didn’t you? What kind of fire was that? It’s not ordinary.”

Li Jianming remained silent. 

Meng Ye frowned, then forced a smile. “Forget it. Since you’re the Great Wuzhu’s son, I’ll let it go.”

Still, Li Jianming said nothing. His eyes instead drifted toward Yun Zhuoran and Weiran—one dressed in white, one in crimson. The contrast between their calm and wild temperaments was so stark it was unsettling.

“Why do you two look alike?” Meng Ye asked suddenly. “Are you twins, or did you use some kind of puppet technique?”

At that, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran both lost interest in him entirely.

Judging that Meng Ye wouldn’t dare harm Li Jianming under Xu Zhichun’s supervision, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran left the hall without another word. 

Standing again under the eaves, Weiran leaned close and whispered, “Brother, was that Su Pengpeng just now?”

Yun Zhuoran nodded.

Though she now wore a braided hairstyle with silver ornaments around her head and neck, her former spirit still lingered beneath her sickly pallor. Her injuries hadn’t fully healed. Yet now that she had returned to the Wu Clan, it was only a matter of time before their identities were discovered—everyone’s except perhaps Li Jianming’s. They would need to remain alert.

Weiran muttered, “Then we’ve been exposed.”

Yun Zhuoran’s gaze darkened. “The Wu Clan Chief knows Li Jianming’s identity but pretends ignorance before Xu Zhichun. He intends to keep us here. I doubt he’ll let us leave easily.”

“We’re the Island Masters of Penglai,” Weiran said with a sneer. “Would he dare touch us?”

“Penglai is far from here,” Yun Zhuoran replied quietly. “Its authority doesn’t reach this land. The Wu Clan owes no allegiance to us—and once our identities are revealed, the Fengtian Temple will certainly take their side.”

“Because of Yun Duo,” Weiran realized, his lips curling. “She’s afraid.”

Yun Duo had shown her fear of the Taiyin True Fire back when they seized it. Now that Yun Zhuoran had taken it back, that fear must have deepened. 

Yet the continued silence of Fengtian Temple’s deity still troubled him. They had reached its very heart—so why did the so-called god remain absent?

While they spoke, Xu Zhichun entered the courtyard alone. Yan Changtian had already departed. 

Li Jianming, still in the hall, immediately rose.

Xu Zhichun sighed softly and said from beneath the eaves, “Come with me.”

Li Jianming followed without a word.

They didn’t go far—just up to the rooftop. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran stayed below, leaning against a pillar to watch in silence. Meng Ye and Meng Zhou stood off to the side, also observing. 

Meng Ye’s gaze lingered uneasily on Yun Zhuoran and Weiran, wary of the Taiyin True Fire.

Night in Wu City was bitterly cold. Though snow did not fall, the chill cut to the marrow. Li Jianming barely noticed. After years in the Kunwu Sword Sect, mere cold could not shake him.

They had only just met the day before, yet standing face to face again now, neither could speak. 

Li Jianming’s eyes, sharp as a drawn blade, stayed fixed on Xu Zhichun. 

The silence dragged until Xu Zhichun finally sighed. “Ming’er.”

Li Jianming stiffened. “Foster father…” Hearing that gentle, familiar tone, the coldness in his face wavered. “Foster father, why?”

Xu Zhichun smiled faintly. “What do you wish to ask?”

There were too many questions—how he had become a Wuzhu of the Wu Clan, how he could serve as a priest of Fengtian Temple, why he had hidden it all for so many years. Why he had lied about being captured.

Yet none of those words came out. 

Li Jianming only gripped his sword tighter. “Senior Sister Su is of the Wu Clan, so she returned to them. But you, foster father—are you one of them too? Are you abandoning me the way she abandoned the Sword Sect?”

Xu Zhichun’s smile faded. “You still have a master.”

Li Jianming’s eyes widened. The confirmation struck like a blow. He shook his head violently. “No—it’s not the same! You’re not just my master. You’re my father!”

Xu Zhichun’s gaze softened. His usual gentleness now carried cruelty in its calm. He reached out and touched Li Jianming’s forehead lightly. “Ming’er, you’re no longer a child who needs his father’s care. You have your master and your fellow disciples. The Kunwu Sword Sect is your true home.”

Li Jianming laughed bitterly. “So that’s it? Once I grow up, I stop being your child? Why must you stay with the Wu Clan? Come back with us, foster father!”

“I cannot,” Xu Zhichun said quietly. “The Wu Clan is where I belong. Long ago, I promised an old friend that I would protect them for life. That is my vow.”

Li Jianming’s voice cracked. “And that promise is worth more than me?”

Xu Zhichun smiled faintly, almost sadly. “Silly child.” He looked away. “I’ve already spoken with the clan leader. I’ll send you out of Wu City tomorrow. This may be our last meeting. Leave with the Young Island Master—and take care of yourself.”

Li Jianming stared at him, disbelieving. 

Xu Zhichun only reached out to stroke his hair, as he always had when Li Jianming was small. “Be good, and go home. You belong to Kunwu.”

Then he turned and walked away into the darkness.

Li Jianming stood motionless, unable to move or speak.

The murmured conversation beneath the eaves quieted as Xu Zhichun descended. 

Meng Ye and Meng Zhou hurried toward him, but Xu Zhichun waved them off, forcing a smile before approaching Yun Zhuoran.

“Young Island Master.”

Yun Zhuoran inclined his head. “Master Xu.”

Xu Zhichun’s expression flickered before he smiled faintly. “I am no longer Master Xu. I am now the Wu Clan’s High Priest, a servant of Fengtian Temple.”

Yun Zhuoran ignored the correction and glanced toward the roof. 

Xu Zhichun followed his gaze and sighed. “Tomorrow morning, Meng Ye will escort you out of Wu City. Young Island Master, I leave Ming’er in your care. Please see him safely back to the Kunwu Sword Sect.” As he spoke, he actually bowed.

Both Meng Ye and Meng Zhou froze in disbelief. 

Yun Zhuoran stepped aside at once. “Master Xu, have you truly decided? Don’t you wish to know why we came to Wu City? This city carries a heavy burden—you may not withstand it.”

Meng Ye, already irritated by Xu Zhichun’s courtesy toward outsiders, snapped, “What are you implying?”

Xu Zhichun silenced him with a glance. “I’ll bear what I must. Whether I can endure it or not is irrelevant—I will not turn away.”

Yun Zhuoran studied him quietly, then said, “I hope we meet again. But next time, Master Xu, you may not be my match.”

Xu Zhichun chuckled softly. “Then I look forward to it.”

He turned to leave. Meng Ye and Meng Zhou followed behind. 

Under the eaves, Yun Zhuoran and Weiran watched their figures disappear into the distance, while above them, Li Jianming remained on the rooftop, still staring into the dark.

When they were gone, Weiran pursed his lips and looked up.

Yun Zhuoran sighed. “He won’t listen.”

Weiran tilted his head. “Let’s check on him anyway?”

With a faint smile, Yun Zhuoran followed him up.

Li Jianming lay flat on his back, one arm behind his head, eyes fixed on the night sky. The silence between them was thick enough to crush the air. 

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran exchanged a glance but didn’t speak.

Then Li Jianming suddenly laughed. He rolled onto his side and said, “What are you two staring at?”

Weiran frowned, walking closer. “What did you talk about?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Li Jianming muttered. His voice was low, weary. He patted the spot beside him. “Sit.”

Yun Zhuoran didn’t move. “Dirty.”

Li Jianming glared at him, then exhaled in a rough laugh. Looking toward the courtyard below, he said softly, “You know, I don’t think I ever told you about my life. I was abandoned when I was a child—left to die in the mountains. My foster father found me while gathering herbs. I clung to him, crying and calling him ‘Dad’ until he took me home.”

A faint, nostalgic smile touched his face. “He liked children. When Master later discovered me and wanted to take me to Kunwu Sword Sect, he was reluctant to let me go. But he didn’t refuse. He just gave me advice the night before I left. I told him I’d rather stay and study medicine with him, but he scolded me for being foolish. Still, the next morning, he came along with us. That’s when Jialan City gained a new Changchun Pavilion.” Li Jianming laughed faintly and said, “That pavilion only exists because my adoptive father couldn’t bear to be too far from me.”

Yun Zhuoran and Weiran sat quietly, neither interrupting.

After a pause, Li Jianming smiled again, voice turning light with memory. “My master… he’s not good at teaching disciples. He always says, ‘The master leads the way—cultivation depends on oneself.’ When I first went up the mountain, I was just a child. I practiced swordsmanship in the snow every day, morning and night, until I made myself sick. When my adoptive father found out, he was furious. He marched straight up Kunwu Mountain and scolded my master for an entire hour, not caring that he was a sword immortal. My master was so afraid of being berated again that after that, he started paying more attention to me than to the other disciples—just to save face. But he didn’t really change. My adoptive father never trusted him. He worried about me constantly, so he arranged for me to travel back and forth between the Sword Sect and Changchun Pavilion. I went down the mountain every few days, and he always prepared baskets of food for me to bring back.”

Li Jianming’s eyes softened as he continued. “My fellow disciples were all jealous. Even my master turned a blind eye. I remember once telling him, half-jokingly, that my adoptive father treated me better than my mother ever did, so I might as well call him ‘Mother.’ And I actually did. He didn’t even get angry.”

After speaking, Li Jianming exhaled, the words leaving him lighter. He rose, sword in hand, his back to the two behind him.

“But now,” he said quietly, “my adoptive father doesn’t want me anymore.”

Weiran blinked and shifted uneasily but didn’t speak.

 Li Jianming stood for a long time before finally turning back to them. “I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded. “All right.”

“Then go to sleep.” Li Jianming smiled faintly, waved, and leapt lightly off the roof. His movements were brisk, almost cheerful—as if the weight in his chest had been forced down again, at least for the night.

Only Yun Zhuoran and Weiran remained on the rooftop. Weiran stared blankly after Li Jianming as he disappeared into the room opposite. “Isn’t he… sad?”

Yun Zhuoran replied calmly, “Who knows?”

Weiran frowned and scratched his cheek, troubled. “Are human emotions really that complicated?”

Yun Zhuoran chuckled. “What do you mean?”

Weiran hesitated, unable to explain. After thinking for a while, he leaned his head against Yun Zhuoran’s shoulder. His voice softened. “Does Brother miss Brother Peiran?”

Yun Zhuoran froze.

Weiran must have remembered Li Jianming’s story and drawn the connection. 

Others had asked Yun Zhuoran this before, and he had always denied it—but this time, he answered quietly, without hesitation.

“Yes.”

How could he not miss him? Yun Peiran was his only brother.

Weiran’s eyes filled with warmth. He didn’t know how to comfort him, so after a moment, he gently cupped Yun Zhuoran’s face and kissed his forehead. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Brother, think of me too.”

Yun Zhuoran blinked slowly. “Is that all for today?”

Weiran stiffened in disbelief. “Of course not!”

He looked so flustered that Yun Zhuoran couldn’t hold back a laugh. His laughter came deep and unrestrained—rare for him.

Weiran froze, then realized he was being teased. His cheeks puffed up in outrage. Grabbing Yun Zhuoran’s collar, he pulled him down and kissed him hard. “Brother, you’re awful!”

Though he said it fiercely, his kiss was as gentle as water.

Yun Zhuoran paused, then pressed him down, lowering his voice. “I will.”

Weiran lay still, his hands resting on Yun Zhuoran’s waist, his gaze steady and unguarded.

“I will miss you,” Yun Zhuoran said softly.

Across the courtyard, the door of the opposite room slammed shut. Li Jianming covered his ears, face twisting in despair.

After everything that happened today, they still had the heart for this?!

He rolled onto his bed with a groan.

“Single swordsmen aren’t even human…” he muttered bitterly.